


Ménage à Un

by Sinful Words (MontanaHarper)



Series: DIY [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-02
Updated: 2004-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Sinful%20Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Orli runs his tongue over his lips, the salt of his own sweat a poor substitute for the imagined flavour of Elijah's skin, but that lack is made up for by the soft gasp that comes from the vicinity of the doorway and Orli is inordinately pleased that his performance is getting to Elijah.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ménage à Un

He hears the front door open and Orli considers shouting or maybe even tugging the edge of the duvet over himself, but he's always had an exhibitionistic streak and he's pretty certain of the intruder's identity. After all, the only people with keys to his house are Elijah and Viggo, neither of whom he'd kick out of bed. So, risks assessed as though what he's considering is just another one of his typical daredevil stunts—like parachuting or bungee jumping—Orli closes his eyes and resumes the familiar rhythm of hand on prick, listening carefully for any little sound that would indicate his visitor has reached the door to his bedroom.

He's rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from the doorway and he's fairly certain now he knows who it is. Viggo would have laughed, and probably made a rude joke about kinky elvish sex rituals. The near absolute silence, then, is Elijah—likely deciding whether to run away entirely or to retreat politely to the sitting room and make enough noise to alert Orli to his presence.

Careful not to give any indication that he's aware he's no longer alone, Orli watches from beneath his lashes, cataloguing the responses his movements evoke and deciding that the flush of Elijah's cheeks and the glittering blue of his eyes are the most erotic thing Orli's ever seen.

At least until Elijah catches one side of his lower lip between his teeth—making Orli want to lick and suck at him until those lips are red and swollen and Elijah's mouth looks well-fucked—and then slides one hand from his chest to the bulge in the front of his jeans, palm pressing in and eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

And despite his determination not to react, Orli hears a moan escape from his lips, and his hand—seemingly beyond his conscious control—is moving faster and harder on his prick, the image of Elijah's face replaying on the insides of his eyelids. Then his body is arching, so close to release, and he barely recovers his higher brain functions in time to stop himself, sparks of pain radiating from his balls as he overdoes it, yanking too hard in his desperation to shut it down.

He's shaking, now, eyes slitted just enough to make out Elijah, one hand down the front of his jeans, the room silent but for the faint susurration of skin on denim and the slightly louder sound of Elijah's breathing, and Orli wonders if Elijah actually realises how audible he is, or if he's so far gone that he simply doesn't care. Because he's already exceeded Orli's expectations, gone farther and blushed less than Orli could've imagined. Not, of course, that he'd ever imagined this situation, nor fantasised about coming whilst in the same room as Elijah, watching the sensations overwhelm him and bury his inhibitions beneath raw need until Orli just has to sink his teeth into the joint between Elijah's shoulder and neck and feel Elijah arch up against him.

Orli runs his tongue over his lips, the salt of his own sweat a poor substitute for the imagined flavour of Elijah's skin, but that lack is made up for by the soft gasp that comes from the vicinity of the doorway and Orli is inordinately pleased that his performance is getting to Elijah.

It says something—though what that something might be isn't quite clear to him—that he's getting as much from Elijah's unvarnished responses as Elijah seems to be from his carefully considered "show." But for all that Orli is conscious of his audience, his movements calculated for maximum effect, nothing about this is acting. The glide of fingertips against hard, sensitised flesh evokes genuine shudders of pleasure from his body, his instinctive reactions merely intensified by the knowledge that Elijah is watching, that he is becoming equally aroused.

And that idea wrenches something low in his gut, the tingle spreading outward and shifting into a flow of lava lapping at his balls and the base of his prick, so that he has to first slow and then stop stroking entirely as he watches Elijah unbutton his jeans.

Because Orli really didn't expect that, especially not the bit where Elijah isn't wearing anything underneath, so that as soon as the last button is undone Orli can see the curve of Elijah's shaft, dusky between pale fingers, jutting out from beneath the hem of Elijah's t-shirt, and that's so hot.

Then Elijah—collapses is really the only word for it—against the doorpost and bares a length of smooth, pale neck in the process, and Orli has to revise his definition of hot, because _that_ is the embodiment of hot. Until Elijah's lip is caught between white teeth again and his hand is moving fast and smooth on his prick and "hot" increases exponentially, like some perverse bit of sexual maths: hot squared or maybe even cubed.

Orli suspects that Elijah could get all the way to hot-to-the-infinite-power without too much trouble, and he's breathless because he wants to help with those calculations, help him work out the geometry of prick and arse, and it's been quite a while since Orli's thought seriously about being on that side of the buggery equation. The idea sets a buzz running along his nerves and he spreads his legs a bit more, planting his left foot firmly on the mattress in the hopes that the change in angle will relieve some of the pressure, will fool his body into thinking it's not craving the sensation of being opened and filled by Elijah's hard prick.

And Orli's movement seems to have changed Elijah's rhythm, shifted something slightly in the feedback loop they've worked their way into, because Elijah's hand is moving faster now, as though he's in sight of the edge and is racing to throw himself over. The moan from across the room really comes as no surprise to Orli, though the jump his prick gives at the sound is a little more unexpected and he knows he's on the verge of coming, himself.

Elijah's blissful expression—the equation's nearly hot-to-the-infinite-power now—starts a chain reaction in Orli, and he's already past the point of no return when he registers the slightly puzzled look on Elijah's face and it takes everything he's got to keep from grinning as he realises the cause. Then he's coming, liquid sparks spattering on his fingers and belly, and he doesn't really do it with intent, because that would take more functioning brain cells than he currently seems to have, but he raises his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

He's not sure whether the quiet intake of breath and rapid retreat are a sign that he pushed too far, that Elijah was finally revolted by his actions, but it's too late to take them back now; he'll have to judge by Elijah's reactions tomorrow on the set. Orli's already planning his next role, though—in a self-directed, independent piece tentatively titled "The Seduction of Elijah Wood"—when he hears the front door close quietly.


End file.
